You Can Breathe Now
by diasterism
Summary: Nothing in life is ever cut and dried. You've got your entire future planned out. Your eyes meet. You throw it all away. That's why girls suck, mate. DracoHermione. An AU set during the events of Book 7, focusing mostly on love and war and Slytherins.
1. A Mother's Prayer

**You Can Breathe Now**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.

AN: First chapter of my first attempt at a major AU. A historic moment indeed. Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated.

**Chapter One: A Mother's Prayer**

She stood alone in the drawing room, a slender figure cloaked in silk robes and shadows. Under the marble mantelpiece, a few embers glowed weakly, smoke rising and curling into the air, remnants of a newly-extinguished fire.

There was a corpse on the table _(the magnificent, ornate table that had been in her husband's family for generations, which she ordered the house elves to polish everyday until its wooden surface gleamed like a mirror). _The corpse lay in a pool of drying blood, staring at the darkened ceiling with empty sockets, its ribs glistening like ropes of pearls in the few rays of moonlight streaming through the window.

_(Nagini had not been hungry enough to devour all the organs, to pick all the flesh clean from the bones.)_

She clenched her wand tightly, shoulders squared, spine ramrod-straight even as a sob tore itself loose from her throat, momentarily breaking the silence. Embarrassed by the outburst _(for she had been raised to act with dignity at all times, even in private; every little unladylike sin was scrutinized and tallied by cold, unforgiving eyes),_ she fought the urge to cringe, and tried to clear her mind.

_Clean up. I must clean up._ A simple Vanishing Spell would do, or perhaps she could Transfigure the body into something small and insignificant and dispose of it. The _Tergeo _incantation would siphon off the wet blood, but she didn't have the faintest idea how to remove the stains that would undoubtedly be left on the tabletop. She was a far cry from well-versed in household spells; elves had always been in charge of cleaning and mending and cooking, all her life.

So she simply stood and stared at the half-eaten corpse, the faint beginnings of panic stirring in the pit of her stomach, not moving a single muscle until she heard someone say "Mother" in a questioning tone of voice, upon which she took a deep breath and turned around.

"Draco. It's late; you should be in bed."

"What are you doing here?" her only son asked from the doorway.

"I… there is some unfinished business I must attend to."

His wintry gaze traveled from her to the dead body on the table, and he flinched. She longed to cover his eyes and tell him not to look, but it was too late for that, much too late. He had already seen everything an hour ago.

_(Everything. Things so young a boy should not see.)_

"Why don't you tell the house elves to do it? It's what they're for, after all."

She shook her head. "The Dark Lord was very specific, Draco. I am to take care of this mess personally."

_Punishment, _she thought as bitterness welled up inside her, fast and fierce and strong. _We let him use our home as headquarters. I have given my only son to his service and I must tend my husband's wounds every night, but still he sees fit to punish us. When will it end?_

Draco hesitated, then moved towards her. As he came nearer she could see the bags under his eyes and his sunken cheeks, thrown into harsh relief by the interplay of moonlight and shadows. Her heart ached for him, for this boy who had been forced to grow up too soon.

"You don't have to," he said softly. "He isn't here anymore."

"You must not speak like that!" she hissed, lowering her voice to a whisper. "The Dark Lord knows everything. If we disobey him, he will find out."

Fear flickered across his sharp, aristocratic features, and then it was gone, replaced by uneasy determination. "I could teach you Occlumency, Mother, I'm good at it. You could keep him out of your mind---"

_"Stop it!" _She grabbed his shoulders, frantic and afraid. "If _anyone _hears you talking like that--- Draco, you _must _dismiss such traitorous notions at once. We are on thin enough ice already as it is--- if you incur his wrath again--- I couldn't bear---" And because she would die if she lost him, she held him to her, as tightly as if he would disappear at any moment.

Stiffly, he allowed her to embrace him for a few fleeting heartbeats, then took a step back.

_(He did not like to be touched. His father had trained him well.)_

"All right, I won't mention it again."

He watched silently as she Vanished the corpse and did the best she could with the leftover blood, ultimately resorting to scrubbing the table surface with a rag she conjured from thin air. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she did so. To be reduced to such filthy Muggle behavior in front of her son! Oh, how her ancestors must be turning over in their graves…

When she was done, she made the rag disappear in a puff of smoke and straightened up to survey her handiwork.

_Well, it could be worse, _she reflected. _The house elves will polish the table again tomorrow. Everything will be fine._

Except nothing was going to be fine. As long as Harry Potter remained at large, as long as skirmishes between Aurors and Death Eaters continued, as long as the War stretched on, she would always be living in a cloud of uncertainty and fear. The fear that one day her son or her husband would not come home…

"Draco."

"Yes, Mother?"

She could not bring herself to meet his eyes. "You use it, don't you? Occlumency. You block your mind."

There was a pause that seemed to go on forever. Finally, he said, "I do. Not all of it, not too much to make him suspect. But enough."

She looked at him then. He returned her gaze solemnly.

"It's the only reason I'm still alive, Mother."

At seventeen, he already towered over her, but tonight he looked so young and so lost, so like a little boy who had finally realized and was bewildered and hurt by the dangers and complexities of life, and was desperately trying to hide it, that it made her yearn to weep.

"Draco…" _I'm sorry. This was not the life I wanted for you. _"Be careful." _How I wish I could protect you and keep you safe always. Would that you had a better mother or any other name..._

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his robes, a sure sign that he was feeling uncomfortable. "I'll go up to my room now, Mother. Good night."

She waited until he was gone, waited until the heavy wooden door had slid shut. Then she slid limply into the nearest chair and gave in to the fear that had clawed at her insides since that fateful night in August.

_(Bellatrix threw a shaking, white-faced Draco down on the carpet, satisfaction and triumph sparkling in her mad eyes. "He survived the Marking. It is done," she proclaimed, over the boy's ragged gasps and whimpers of pain.)_

She sat alone in the drawing room, hugging herself in an effort to ward off the chill that had suddenly pervaded her bones, but because she was Narcissa Malfoy, she did not cry.


	2. Stay the Night

**You Can Breathe Now**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.

AN: Thank you to the wonderful people who reviewed the previous chapter, and for those who added to their favorites and alerts, thank you as well. Some rather disturbing imagery ahead. I blame Neil Gaiman. Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated.

**Chapter Two: Stay the Night**

_"Snakes swallow their prey whole," Marcus Flint says. They're in his room, and Draco is sitting at his desk, examining the green-and-silver poster on the wall depicting the emblem of Slytherin House, while Flint lies sprawled on the bed and outside the adults mingle and sip wine and talk of uninteresting grown-up things._

_Draco arches a disbelieving eyebrow at the older boy. "No, they don't."_

_"S'truth," Flint declares. "Baddock's got one, we feed it mice an' everything. It opens its mouth real wide, like so---" He stops his narrative to give a passable, if comical, imitation, and Draco's lips twitch in a semblance of the smirk that would be his trademark in later years. "Bye bye, mousie. It doesn't even chew or anything."_

_"What are the fangs for, then?" Draco asks, still not willing to let go of the suspicion that Flint is pulling his leg._

_"That's where the poison comes from," Flint explains authoritatively. "The snake bites its prey to knock it dead, then it starts the swallowing. Only, sometimes, the mouse isn't _completely _dead, so you can see its leg or its tail twitching as it goes into the snake's mouth." He grins, eyes shining with malicious pleasure. "It's awesome. Tell you what, Malfoy, next time we'll go to Baddock's place and you can watch for yourself."_

_"Yeah, all right," says Draco. He tilts his head as he ponders this new information._

_Finally, he says, "_All _snakes?"_

_"Yeah," Flint replies. "All snakes."_

_Except it's not true, except Nagini's different. He watches in horror as the serpent tears into Charity Burbage, ripping flesh from bone with razor-sharp teeth as blood gushes out and spatters everywhere. His right fist is clenched, nails digging into his palm, and he tries to concentrate on that pain to prevent himself from screaming and falling into further disgrace. Voldemort's high, cold laugh mingles with the jeers of the other Death Eaters, and all that Draco wants is to flee the room, but he's so terror-struck he can't move a single muscle._

_Nagini stops, raising its head and staring at the mangled remains of its dinner. And just as Draco thinks it's over and is about to inwardly sigh with relief, the snake dives down to Burbage's face and gouges out an eyeball with its fangs, chewing viciously, and Draco realizes that the other eye is looking straight at him, and unable to hold it in any longer, he screams and screams and screams…_

Draco Malfoy woke up with a strangled cry, bolting upright in bed.

He couldn't see anything, and the dream was still so vivid in his mind that he half-expected Nagini to be lurking in the darkness, waiting to strike.

"Moseley!" he yelled, pulse racing.

There was a loud crack from somewhere at the foot of his bed, and then a squeaky, subservient, "Master Draco has called?"

"Open the windows," Draco ordered. "And light a fire."

Gradually, the darkness was dispelled as curtains were drawn aside to let in the moonlight and flames danced merrily in the hearth. After pushing one last log into place, the house elf faced Draco and bowed.

"Is Master Draco needing anything else?"

Draco shook his head. "That will be all. You may go."

Moseley leaned forward, pointy ears twitching, eyes wide with concern. "Master Draco is sweating. If Master Draco is unwell, Moseley will get a cup of hot chocolate or fetch the Mistress---"

"I'm _fine," _snapped Draco. "Go on, out of here."

The house elf hesitated, then bowed once more, bade him good night and disappeared. Draco sat up in bed, listening to the rhythm of his own unsteady breathing and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Every time he blinked, he saw Nagini devouring Burbage's corpse on the antique table in the drawing room.

_I am going out of my bloody sodding mind._

He reached for the wand lying on his bedside table. Two silvery creatures erupted from its tip _(he grimaced, as he did every time he used them, not caring much for the form they took) _and disappeared.

Smugly satisfied, Draco replaced the wand, and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, a section of the wall swung open, and Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stumbled into the room, looking like they had just rolled out of bed. Which was probably the case.

"What took you?" Draco demanded.

"Folks set up Anti-Apparition Field at my 'ouse," Crabbe grunted, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Had to walk a bit."

"Me, too," Goyle rasped, stifling a yawn.

Even in his current troubled state of mind, Draco once again marveled at the sheer miracle that had caused Crabbe and Goyle to pass their Apparition tests.

They plopped down on the carpeted floor just as the secret door swung shut, and fixed dull gazes on Draco.

He looked back at them.

There was an awkward silence.

Crabbe was the first to speak. "Right. What's this about, then?"

_Oh, nothing, I just had a nightmare and I felt like I was going to claw my own face off if I didn't talk to someone as soon as possible.._

"I couldn't sleep," said Draco, trying to sound nonchalant. "I got bored."

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged long-suffering glances.

Three A.M. found the boys feasting on scones and hot chocolate brought up from the kitchens by Moseley, whom Draco had sworn to absolute secrecy under pain of death. Crabbe and Goyle munched away more or less happily on the floor, while Draco remained in his bed, sparingly taking nibbles and sips. Last night's events had robbed him of an appetite he was not sure he would ever regain.

"Draco," said Crabbe, "been wonderin', you ever told anyone besides us 'bout the secret passage?"

Draco frowned. "Do you think I'm stupid? Of course not."

"Even your dad?"

"If he knew about it, he would have had it sealed back when all that fuss with the Ministry started. And he's the _last _person I'd tell."

"Aren't you worried, though?" Crabbe asked. "Someone might figure out You-Know-Who's using your 'ouse as a base, then they'd find the entrance by the lake an' then where're we all goin' to be?"

Draco dismissed the grim possibility with an elegant wave of his hand. "No one's going to find out, as long as you two keep your mouths shut."

_Not that Goyle ever had a problem in _that _area, _he reflected, his gaze flickering over the other boy who was stuffing his face with scones and had, unsurprisingly enough, contributed nothing to the conversation.

But Goyle startled him a while later by speaking. "Draco, we gotta go pretty soon, our mums'll throw a fit if they wake up an' we're not in our beds."

"'E's right," said Crabbe, already starting to get up.

The panic rose inside Draco once more. He couldn't bear this empty, silent room, couldn't bear the thought of returning to a world of blood and fangs and nightmares. "No!" he bit out. "Stay right where you are."

Maybe they were just accustomed to obeying him, even in the face of imminent parental disapproval. Maybe they could sense the desperation he tried so hard to conceal _(for they had been with him since childhood, and although they could never claim to understand him, there are things you just know, after a while)._

Whatever the case, they stayed with him until sunrise.


	3. The Science of Waiting

**You Can Breathe Now**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.

AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited and added to alerts. I do have a favor to ask, though. It would be really cool if those who liked my story enough to add it to their favorites and alerts could also leave a review :) Anyway, this chapter was a bit hard to write, mainly because I had the darnedest time thinking up names for house elves. Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated.

**Chapter Three: The Science of Waiting**

The Malfoys sat in their respective places at the dining room table, a sumptuous meal of stuffed roast turkey, baked potatoes and bouillabaisse spread out before them. They ate slowly and quietly, now and then summoning a house elf to bring more wine or, in Draco's case, pumpkin juice.

_(They were tense, and waiting; their futures would more or less be determined by the outcome of tonight's maneuvers.)_

"I should be there," said Lucius suddenly. Draco and Narcissa exchanged troubled glances. "I should be fighting by his side."

Narcissa reached out to place a cool, gentle hand on his wrist. "Do not trouble yourself, Lucius. You need to rest---"

"I am no weakling!" Lucius roared.

Narcissa drew back, the impassive expression on her face faltering; Draco's head snapped up and he looked apprehensively from one parent to the other.

Several tense seconds passed. Finally, Lucius said "My apologies" in clipped tones, and they resumed eating, albeit with markedly less enthusiasm _(not that there had ever been much in the first place)._

_It is always harder for wizards to be parted from their wands, _reflected Narcissa. _They always need to be at the forefront of the action._

_("Attend to me, Narcissa," said her mother, fair-haired and unassailable. "You must learn to be patient. Men are different, of course, but so much of what we witches do is waiting. It's in our blood.")_

Their meal was interrupted by the appearance of a silver doe landing lightly on the table, provoking a startled intake of breath from Draco. The doe opened its mouth, and Severus Snape's voice filled the room.

_"He is coming. He is angry. Prepare yourselves."_

No sooner had the doe vanished than Narcissa sprang into action. "Moseley, Plinky, Tilly, Albert!" she cried, standing up. The house elves appeared with successive loud cracks as their names were called.

"Mistress!" they chorused, long ears pricked up, awaiting her command.

Narcissa hurriedly issued orders. "Albert, clear the table. Tilly and Plinky, light the fire and the chandelier in the drawing room. Moseley, prepare some refreshments. Quickly!" She turned to her husband and son. "Lucius, Draco, we must meet him at the entrance. Come."

"What happened?" Draco demanded as they strode out of the dining room and into the front hall. "We didn't lose, did we? We've got Thicknesse on our side---"

"Quiet," said Lucius tersely.

The three Malfoys positioned themselves in the hallway, and soon enough the door burst open and Lord Voldemort stormed in, red eyes blazing with rage, a small cluster of Death Eaters trailing in his wake.

"My lord," Narcissa murmured, bowing her head slightly as Voldemort pushed past her.

"Draco!" Voldemort snapped. "Come with me. You, too, Rowle. Dolohov, _you _wait your turn. As for the rest of you, stay here and do not leave under pain of death!" He disappeared in a flurry of black robes in the general direction of the drawing room.

Rowle followed, trembling, looking like he was about to vomit. Draco cast a helpless, pleading glance at his mother.

Narcissa started towards him, but was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Don't, Narcissa," said Snape. He nodded at Draco. "Go. Do not make him wait, or you shall suffer for it."

Narcissa's throat constricted as she watched her son walk away. She longed to cry out, to stop him, to take him far away from this place…

"What is he going to do to Draco?" Lucius asked the other Death Eaters brusquely. "What happened? Did the mission fail? Did---"

"Scrimgeour is dead," Snape told him. "The Ministry is ours."

"Then why---?"

"Because Harry Potter escaped!" cried Bellatrix Lestrange, her face livid with fury. "Because Rowle and Dolohov are incompetent buffoons and _they let him get away." _She turned to Dolohov contemptuously. "There were only _three _of them! They were _teenagers!_ What kind of fool---"

"You didn't do so well against them yourself, Bellatrix," snarled Dolohov. "Or have you conveniently forgotten?"

Bellatrix's heavy-lidded eyes narrowed. "How _dare _you!" she screeched, plunging her hand into her robes, seconds away from cursing him.

"That will be quite enough," said Snape in a tone that brooked no protest. "Bella, put your wand back. Let the Dark Lord deal with Dolohov. He will be punished adequately enough, I trust."

"Severus," Narcissa whispered, "what about Draco? Why did the Dark Lord---"

"Unless I miss my guess," said Snape dryly, "tonight your son will be initiated into the fine art of torturing others."

Narcissa shuddered. Lucius drew closer to her and let their fingers brush, an action that was not overlooked by Bellatrix, who threw her head back and cackled.

"Aren't you two sweet!" she sneered. "Don't worry, if Draco proves incompetent in that area, the Dark Lord will whip him into shape. And I _do _mean whip…"

"Bellatrix." Lucius' voice was calm, but enough danger lurked beneath its surface to make Bellatrix take a step back and fall silent.

A while later, Rowle's anguished screams pierced the air, and the Death Eaters standing in the hallway involuntarily drew together, knowing that there but for the grace of Merlin went their own selves.

Narcissa stared numbly into space. Her son… her only son…

_("When the circumstances spin beyond your control, you wait." Her mother's eyes were the color of the summer sky, but infinitely colder. "Even if you feel like you will explode if you do not act, even if your heart is breaking with each moment that passes. It is the woman's way, Narcissa.")_

She turned to the assembled company, her features brittle but composed, her voice gracious and polite.

"Would anyone like a cup of tea?"

_(Waiting.)_


	4. BacktoSchool Blues, Part One

**You Can Breathe Now**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.

AN: Since this chapter and the next will deal with several different scenes, I've decided to split them up into mini-chapters. You get two for the price of one, hurray. Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated, and thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed the last chapter!

**Chapter Four: Back to School Blues, Part One**

_I. The Train Ride_

"Well, well, well," drawled Blaise Zabini as Draco entered the compartment, followed by Pansy Parkinson, "if it isn't our very own royal couple."

"Oh, Blaise!" Pansy squealed, batting her eyelashes and grabbing hold of Draco's arm.

_Oh, please, _Draco thought, fighting the urge to shake her off. He quite liked Pansy, but when he was in a particularly edgy mood, she got on his nerves. As did everyone else.

He slid into an empty space by the window, and the Head Boy badge pinned to his robes reflected the sunlight, splintering it into several tiny shards of golden rays that fell on the faces of Crabbe and Goyle, who were seated across him.

Goyle blinked. "Cor, that thing's _shiny."_

"Knowing Malfoy, his mother probably made the house elves polish it until their fingers bled."

This was close enough to the truth that it made Draco snarl "Shut up, Zabini" in pure defensiveness.

"_My _parents were ever so pleased," Pansy announced. "I wasn't surprised, of course, what with all the work I put in---"

"Save it, Parkinson," interrupted Blaise, smirking. "You're Head Girl because Snape's Headmaster and Hermione Granger can't come back to Hogwarts, and you know it."

Pansy glared at him. "If I didn't know better, Blaise, I'd say you were on _her _side."

Blaise's dark eyes flashed. "Don't go accusing me of being a blood traitor," he said coldly. "I'm just stating the facts. But in any case, it's good that both Heads are in Slytherin. This is going to be an _excellent _year."

Not entirely mollified, Pansy folded her arms over her chest. She had elected to sit beside Draco, leaving no more than a hair's space between them, and the cloying scent of her expensive lavender perfume assaulted his nostrils.

_(Hermione Granger, on the other hand, smelled like soap and springtime, as he knew from the many occasions he'd shoved past her in narrow corridors and staircases.)_

Draco frowned slightly, wondering why he'd thought of the Mudblood at all. _Probably because Zabini brought her up._

"That Granger, I'd love to see the look on her face," said Pansy, fingering the gleaming badge on her chest. "She'd eat her heart out. Know-it-all teacher's pet…"

There was a chorus of general agreement.

"Probably on the run now," said Blaise. "That is, if the Registration Committee hasn't caught up with her yet."

"You reckon they'll send 'er to Azkaban?" Crabbe asked, in a voice that made it clear he was highly enjoying the possibility.

"They will." Blaise's handsome features twisted with sadistic glee. "She's got no one to vouch for her. Pure Muggle-born, isn't she? My mother's new husband works for the Ministry, it isn't pretty what they do to Mudbloods…"

Draco tuned his friends out, turning his head to gaze at the countryside speeding by the window. _Was _Granger in Azkaban? He imagined her languishing in one of the dungeons, chained to the wall, rendered gaunt and hollow-eyed by starvation, lack of sunlight and the presence of dementors. Such a thought should have given him pleasure, but it only served to disturb him, for reasons he himself could not articulate.

_II. The Reprimand_

"Clever move." Sarcasm dripped like acid from every syllable that came out of Snape's mouth. "Absolutely brilliant. Now the whole school knows what you are."

Draco lifted his chin defiantly, gaze as cold as ice, every inch the petulant noble. "So? What's the big deal? We've won already, haven't we?"

Snape bit back the temptation to respond with something along the lines of, "The _big deal_ is that when Voldemort falls, it would not be in your best interest to have an entire hallway full of witnesses swearing before the Wizengamot that they saw the Dark Mark on your arm."

Instead, he simply stated, "Not everyone supports our cause. Many of the students here have lost family and friends to the Death Eaters. By revealing your allegiance so soon, you have made yourself vulnerable."

"No one would dare," said Draco, but doubt flickered across his features.

"That remains to be seen. You were rash and foolish."

"I don't understand why you're so upset. You told me one of my duties as Head Boy is to prevent fights from breaking out. Finnegan and Nott were seconds away from hexing each other. I stopped them. It's as simple as that."

"By pulling back your sleeve and shoving the Mark in their faces?"

"They wouldn't have listened to me otherwise."

A muscle ticked along Snape's jaw as his patience came to an end. "You may go," he said curtly, and without another word Draco got up and left the Headmaster's office. He did not slam the door shut, but closed it loudly enough that Snape raised an eyebrow.

_(When it concerned the Malfoys, anything louder than a _click _was tantamount to a _bang.)

"Idiot boy," Snape bit out, to nobody in particular.

"He is like a son to you, is he not?"

"I do wonder where you get your ideas, Dumbledore," said Snape wryly.

Bright blue eyes twinkled. "Oh, I guess, Severus, and my guesses are so very rarely wrong… Tell me about the boy."

Snape's dark gaze flickered over the portrait of the man he had killed. "What is he to you?"

"I merely wish to know him. He has nothing to fear from me."

"Hmm." There was a brief silence as Snape leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, fingers linked together as he pondered the enigma that was his favorite student. "Draco is… entirely too much like his father. He seeks power and gravitates to those who have it. He takes great pride in his lineage as a pureblood and a Slytherin, and is scornful of beings who do not share those qualities. He is intelligent and quite adept at manipulating people, both through magical and non-magical means. The Imperius Curse is a specialty of his."

"I had noticed," murmured Dumbledore. "Madam Rosmerta and poor Katie Bell… but do go on, Severus. What other talents does young Mr. Malfoy possess?"

"He is a gifted Occlumens," said Snape. "I tried to invade his mind last year. It was like running into a brick wall."

"Most impressive."

Snape couldn't resist. "In that area, he is considerably more proficient than Potter."

"And if Harry and Draco were to duel, Severus? Who, in your honest opinion, would triumph?"

Taken aback by the seriousness of Dumbledore's tone, Snape gave the matter careful consideration. After a while, he said, truthfully, "I do not know. Draco strikes me as the better wizard… but that's not all there is to it, is it?"

"No, Severus," said Dumbledore, smiling gravely, pleased that his second-in-command had learned, yet full of misgivings about the future. "It all comes down to who is the better man."


	5. BacktoSchool Blues, Part Two

**You Can Breathe Now**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.

AN: Finally, some living, breathing non-Slytherins make an appearance. Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated.

**Chapter Five: Back to School Blues, Part Two**

_III. The Lesson_

"Right, you lot," Amycus Carrow boomed as he strode into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Have I got a _special _treat for you today."

Idle conversations ceased as the Slytherins fixed expectant gazes on their professor while the Gryffindors regarded him warily.

His lips split into an unpleasant grin. "Last time, we discussed the theory of the Cruciatus Curse. This meeting, we'll be putting it into actual practice. Bet you've never had that before, have you?"

"Professor Moody showed us, Sir," Pansy simpered. "In fourth year. He demonstrated it on spiders---"

_"Spiders?" _Carrow repeated, visibly surprised and amused. "That's bloody pathetic, that is. What was ol' Barty thinking, eh?"

There was an atmosphere of general confusion as the majority of the students tried to figure out whether they had ever heard of Mad-Eye Moody being referred to as "Barty."

"Forget spiders," said Carrow. "Today, we're doing it on the real thing."

"What's he mean, then?" Crabbe whispered to Goyle, who shrugged. But Draco, who was sitting in front of them, was already staring at Carrow in dawning horror. He couldn't possibly---

"Filch!" called the professor. "Bring him in!"

All eyes snapped to the doorway, through which Argus Filch entered, dragging a struggling boy in his wake. The caretaker threw the boy roughly at Carrow's feet.

"This here is Patrick Everett, class," said Carrow. "He's in first year. A Ravenclaw. Filch caught him sneaking around after hours last night, didn't you, Filch?"

"Aye," leered Filch, who looked like he had died and gone to heaven. "Sure did."

"Please, sir," gasped Everett, trembling, "I was hungry, and---"

Carrow's foot lashed out, kicking the boy in the stomach. Someone from the back row cried out in shock. Everett rolled over, whimpering in pain.

"You Ravenclaws think you're all so smart," said Carrow contemptuously. "Think you're above the rules, don't you, with your little noses stuck in your big books? Think we'd let you go with a light slap on the wrist?" Without giving the boy a chance to respond, Carrow plunged on. "Not on my watch, lad. You broke the rules, you get what's coming to you."

His small eyes surveyed the classroom, lighting up when they landed on Draco. "Ah, Malfoy, there you are! C'mere and show your friends how to do it properly."

Draco felt like every bone in his body had turned into lead as he got up and walked to the front of the room, determinedly avoiding the gazes of his classmates.

_(There was no way he could do it; Everett was in _first year, _for crying out loud. He was a _child.)

_(And so was Draco; even though he had already come of age, he was still a child in so many ways, and they were too young for this, they were all too young.)_

"Haven't got all day, Draco," Carrow growled from somewhere behind him. "Go on."

Draco raised his wand, pointing it straight at Everett's crumpled, trembling form, willing his own hand not to shake. Suddenly he was back in the dark room with Lord Voldemort's eyes glowing like slits beneath his hood and Rowle thrashing about on the floor in utmost pain…

"Do it!" Carrow snapped, sounding for a fleeting instant so much like the Dark Lord that Draco reacted on instinct.

_"Crucio!"_

Patrick Everett screamed, and it was the most horrible sound Draco had ever heard in his life.

Vaguely it occurred to him that someone was sobbing, and chair legs were being scraped backwards, and Carrow was addressing the class in cruelly authoritative tones. "If anyone tries to interfere, they'll be next."

The boy writhed at his feet, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes, and Draco wished with all his heart that he could think of other things, things that would distract him from what he was doing, but he couldn't; you had to _mean _the Unforgivable Curses, or they didn't work.

Finally, when blood spurted out of Everett's mouth, Carrow declared "That's enough for now" and Draco lowered his wand, relieved.

"Filch, take the brat away. This ought to have taught him a lesson."

Filch's sallow complexion had lost what little color it had, and the gleeful expression on his face had disappeared. Instead of simply dragging Everett away, he scooped up the barely-conscious boy in his arms and, after one hesitant glance at Carrow, shuffled slowly out of the room.

"Hope you all enjoyed that--- Brown, stop that sniveling or I will personally give you something to cry about, you hear me? Not to worry, class, there'll be more of that in the future," Carrow said as Draco returned to his seat.

A while later, as Carrow proceeded with the lecture, Draco realized that Pansy, who was sitting beside him, had put the farthest distance possible between them and was avoiding his gaze.

He moved towards her. "Pansy?"

She flinched. He drew back.

_(That was one of the things he would remember most; although she had flashed him a weak smile a while later and, by dinner time, was acting like nothing had ever happened, it would haunt him in the days to come, that Pansy had been afraid of him.)_

_IV. The Revelation_

"What's with you, you lump?" Draco asked in exasperation as he pulled a heavily-injured Neville Longbottom out of the dungeons. "Frankly, I'm _bored _watching the Carrows torture you, and I hate having to drag you back when they're done. I have other responsibilities, you know."

"Like what?" Neville retorted, his speech slightly slurred. "Plotting the Headmaster's assassination and letting Death Eaters into the school? Oh, wait, you've already done that, silly me---"

"Shut up," Draco growled. "Shut up or I will leave you at the foot of the stairs, I swear I will."

"Go on then, won't be the lowest thing you've done---"

It was ironic, Draco reflected, that Longbottom lost his stutter right after being whipped within an inch of his life, but regained it whenever a teacher asked him a question.

Just as he was about to make good on his threat and dump the chubby idiot, the faces of Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley loomed out of the darkness.

"_We'll _take him, thank you very much," Ginny snapped tartly, already reaching out for Neville.

"It's after curfew. You're in big trouble," said Draco.

Ginny glared at him as she placed Neville's right arm over her shoulders, while Luna followed suit with his left. "Go ahead and report us, Malfoy," she said, "but if you had _any_ decency left in you you'd wait until we've taken him to the Hospital Wing."

"What, so I can have the pleasure of not getting any sleep while assisting the Carrows in yet another unimaginative torture session?" drawled Draco. "No thanks. Just get out of here."

"Ginny, Luna," croaked Neville, "s'all right, I can walk."

"Are you sure, Neville?" Ginny asked, brows knitting together in concern.

"Yeah. C'mon." Neville removed his arms from the girls' shoulders and limped forward. Ginny followed, but Luna hung back, staring at Draco with huge eyes.

"What do _you _want?" Draco asked her rudely.

"You know, she thought you weren't so bad," said Luna in her peculiar dreamy tone. "I remember back in sixth year, we were talking about what an evil boy you are, and she told us we were wrong."

Draco was baffled. "Who did? What are you talking about?"

"Hermione Granger. She said… mmm…" The large eyes gazed heavenwards as their owner rifled once more through the pages of memory, then looked back at him. "You weren't evil, she said. You just couldn't breathe."

With that, she flounced away, leaving Draco completely bewildered and strangely out of sorts.


	6. Conversations

**You Can Breathe Now**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.

AN: As its title suggests, this chapter is rather dialogue-heavy. Next one will have more than a bit of action, I promise! Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated.

**Chapter Six: Conversations**

"Loads of fun, innit?" said Crabbe, elbowing his way through the crowd streaming into the Great Hall for lunch. "Never thought I'd like a class so much."

"I'm getting good at it, too," Goyle proudly declared. "Carrow, he said I've got nice--- what d'you call it--- that tech thing."

"Technique, Goyle," Draco supplied.

"Oh. Yeah. That."

_They're actually _happy, Draco realized, glancing at them, at the usually blank faces that were now lit with some kind of inner glow. They were _beaming. _The only time Crabbe and Goyle ever looked like that was when…

_("Hey," Crabbe said excitedly as the butterfly struggled between his pudgy fingers, "if you rip its wings it twitches somethin' fierce. Come see--- I think I tore a bit of its body off, but it's still movin'!")_

Feeling sick to his stomach, Draco quickened his pace, ignoring Crabbe's "Draco, wait up!" The other Slytherins were already seated at the table, talking animatedly while heaping food upon their plates.

"Malfoy," said Theodore Nott by way of greeting, shifting slightly to make room for Draco on the bench.

"Where're your two lackeys?" asked Blaise.

"They'll be along in a bit. They aren't particularly renowned for moving fast."

"No," Milicent Bulstrode agreed. "What they _are _known for is their skill with the Cruciatus."

"That's true, we had a real good one today," Nott remarked casually. "She was in a right state after Crabbe and Goyle were done with her."

"Do you know, I think she couldn't even talk afterwards," said Milicent.

Blaise's dark gaze slid to Draco. "All of us have yet to reach Malfoy's level, though," he said, looking amused. "He's the only one who's drawn blood so far."

"How _do _you do it, Malfoy?" Milicent asked in an admiring tone.

"Practice," Draco replied, refusing to look up from his plate as Rowle's and Dolohov's sunken, haunted, bloodshot eyes flashed before him.

Nott snickered. "Yeah, bet you get lots of that."

"Parkinson!" said Blaise suddenly. "You've been awfully quiet."

"Huh?" Pansy blinked. She looked pale and listless. "Oh. I'm just hungry, I suppose."

"So am I, but I almost can't bear to eat this," said Milicent, wrinkling her nose at the steaming bowls of tripe. "This is the _fourth _day in a row we've had nothing but tripe for lunch. The menu was so much more varied when Dum---" She broke off suddenly, clapping her hands over her mouth and casting a fearful glance at Draco.

A tense silence fell over the table, and was subsequently broken by the arrival of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Tripe _again?" _groaned Crabbe.

"Shut up and eat," Draco muttered.

_Bulstrode does have a point, though, _he thought as the meal progressed. _The quality of food has really declined this year. _He found himself suddenly acutely missing the mashed potatoes and treacle tarts and peppermint humbugs of old.

He glanced over at the Gryffindor table, instinctively searching out the head of bushy brown hair, or the bespectacled face, or the fiery smattering of freckles, before he caught himself and frowned.

_They aren't here anymore, stupid, _he chided himself.

In an effort to take his mind off things, he looked around the Hall. At the other House tables, conversations were muted and sporadic, and bursts of laughter even rarer. The students ate their tripe without gusto, now and then looking around apprehensively. The Great Hall, previously so cheery and welcoming, was now wrapped in an atmosphere of unease, as was all of Hogwarts.

Draco wasn't used to it. He wasn't used to deathly quiet corridors and classrooms and schoolmates avoiding coming within a foot of him. He wasn't used to having no one to sneer at during mealtimes or make fun of in Potions. He wasn't used to seeing a different student crying every few days upon receiving the news that a family member had been injured or killed.

_Wherever the Golden Trio is now, I hope they're suffering, _Draco thought in a fit of irritation.

_("You weren't evil, she said. You just couldn't breathe.")_

What the _hell _had the Mudblood meant by that?

Later that night, Draco's bad mood increased tenfold as he once again escorted a semi-conscious Neville to the Gryffindor common room.

_("Don't take him to the Hospital Wing," Carrow had growled. "Those injuries aren't fatal. Let him suffer.")_

"You know, Longbottom," said Draco conversationally, "there's an easy way out of your problems."

"'M'all ears," Neville mumbled sarcastically.

"Don't mess with the Carrows. It's as simple as that."

The other boy snorted. "For you, maybe."

As they turned the corner, the torchlight fell squarely on Neville, emphasizing the fresh cuts on his face and causing his blood-soaked black robes to glisten sickly, like oil. Draco winced and looked away, an action which didn't go unnoticed by Neville, who, despite his condition, managed to raise an eyebrow.

"Thought you'd've seen worse than this by now, Malfoy."

Draco chose to ignore this jibe, because he was now preoccupied with something else. "You never did answer my question the other night. Why do you keep at it? Setting yourself up to be the Carrows' knife sharpener, when you could save yourself the trouble and just---"

"Torture my schoolmates?" Neville cut in harshly. "Perform the Cruciatus on eleven-year-olds and kids I've practically grown up with? Fat chance."

"You can't afford to be sentimental, Longbottom. This is war."

"And what have people who don't do their homework got to do with it?" Neville burst out, his voice echoing through the hallway. "That McKinnon girl earlier, she didn't write her Muggle Studies essay. What's _that _got to do with the war? She---" He was unable to finish his sentence as he dissolved into a coughing fit. Droplets of blood fell from his mouth and splattered on the floor _(just like Charity Burbage's blood had stained the table in the drawing room as Nagini feasted)_.

They didn't speak again until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who took one look at Neville and swung open without waiting for the password. Draco turned to leave.

"Malfoy."

"What?"

Neville leaned against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, gaping wounds dark against his pale skin. "I don't do it," he said, "because my mum and dad are in the mental ward at Saint Mungo's and they don't know who I am. I don't do it because every scream reminds me of lonely Christmases and the blank look in my mum's eyes. I don't do it because it's evil, and I 'spect the other Gryffindors feel the same way. But y'know what the biggest reason is?"

Draco shook his head, bewildered by the steadiness in Neville's voice and in his gaze, and the sudden solemnity in his demeanor.

"I don't do it," said Neville calmly, seriously, "because I know that if I go up there in front of the class and stand beside Carrow, with some poor kid lying at my feet, waiting for the pain, I'll take out my wand and I'll kill you. You, Carrow and the rest of the Slytherins. I swear it on Dumbledore's grave. So, in a way, I don't do it because I want to save your lives, I suppose."

And, with that, he staggered through the portrait hole, leaving Draco speechless and stunned.

"Get out of here, you," said the Fat Lady, eyeing him with immense dislike as she swung shut. "Go on."

Wordlessly, Draco strode down the corridor, trying to reconcile what he had just heard with his memory of the chubby, stuttering boy who was always looking for that stupid toad.

A figure stumbled out from the corner in front of him. Quick as lightning, he raised his wand, aiming it directly at the figure's chest.

Large blue eyes gazed up at him fearfully. The girl couldn't have been more than fifteen years old.

"It's past curfew," said Draco coldly. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I--- I'm s-s-sorry," the girl stammered, on the verge of tears. "I had to take m-my friend to the H-hospital Wing--- she has a fever--- please--- please don't---"

Beady black eyes watched from the shadows as Draco Malfoy lowered his wand and indicated, with a jerky motion of his head, that the girl was free to go. The girl fled, and Draco stood still for a while, staring tersely into space, before turning the corner and disappearing.

Later, in the Headmaster's office, Severus Snape poured himself a glass of wine.

"May I inquire as to what the occasion is?" asked a curious Dumbledore.

"The boy, as I have mentioned, is entirely too much like his father," said Snape, "but he has his mother's grace. That should be enough to see him through." And, with that, he raised his glass to Dumbledore's portrait in a lazy, almost mocking toast.


	7. Blink of an Eye

**You Can Breathe Now**

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made.

AN: Finally, things start picking up a bit. This is the rewrite of _Malfoy Manor, _which is the twenty-third chapter in the US edition of the book. Suggestions and constructive criticism are much appreciated.

**Chapter Seven: Blink of an Eye**

He had never wanted this.

In his mind, Hermione Granger patiently guided a bumbling Neville Longbottom through Potions class, or answered the teacher's question with a smooth assurance that set his teeth on edge, or responded to his taunts with cold scorn _(he had rarely been able to get to her, that was what had irked him). _In his mind, Granger's eyes blazed in the split second before her palm hit his cheek in a resounding slap; in his mind she floated down the staircase in ephemeral periwinkle blue robes, looking more beautiful than someone so filthy had the right to look.

"What else did you take?" his aunt Bellatrix screeched. "What else? Answer me! _Crucio!"_

Hermione Granger screamed again. The sound pierced the air, mingling with the crackling of the fire in the hearth, and slashed at Draco's heart like a knife. She writhed on the floor, arching her back as the pain ripped through her body, crying out in anguish…

_("You weren't evil, she said. You just couldn't breathe.")_

He had to find out what she had meant, he had to ask her…

Standing beside him, his mother murmured, "Lucius, this isn't getting us anywhere."

"Bellatrix will get the truth out of her eventually," said Lucius. "And it's no less than what dirty creatures like her deserve."

_Dirty. Filthy. _Yes, that had been the basis of Draco's dislike for her--- the inferiority of her blood. And then time had proceeded to make clear that she was better than him at just about everything, and the dislike had boiled over into real loathing, and he had wanted her gone, wanted her dead…

_("Enemies of the Heir beware! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first!")_

_("Keep that big, bushy head down, Granger.")_

He felt a prickle of indignation. He'd _told _her, hadn't he? He'd practically warned her this day would come. And then she went and got herself caught, like the stupid Mudblood that she was.

_He had never wanted this._

Instead of glorifying in the downfall of one of his most bitter rivals, all he could think about was the years they had spent together at Hogwarts, before this damn war, before everything had gotten too bloody _real._ He didn't want to see her being tortured by his aunt or ravaged by Fenrir Greyback; he wanted to insult her, argue about the meaning of a particular symbol in Study of Ancient Runes class…

He wanted those days back. He wanted to regain the time and the innocence he had lost, before he had felt the Mark being seared onto his arm… but it was too late, he was much too late.

"It's a copy, just a copy." She was sobbing now, her spirit almost broken. She turned her head slightly, and their eyes met.

Maybe it was the pain and weariness etched on features that should have been too young to know either. Maybe it was the way his heart stopped beating. Maybe it was the way her eyes narrowed, the way he realized she thought he was enjoying this. Maybe it was the million thoughts and memories that erupted in his mind all at once, clamoring for dominance.

_The burning sensation, the unbelievable agony of the Marking… Albus Dumbledore falling from the lightning-struck tower… His father, once so proud and unbendable, surrendering his wand to the Dark Lord with only the slightest hesitation… The screams of Rowle, of Dolohov, of Patrick Everett… "You weren't evil, she said. You just couldn't breathe"… His mother, standing rigidly in the darkened drawing room, looking at him with sorrowing eyes, "Draco. Be careful"… Neville Longbottom, bruised and bleeding, barely able to stand, "I'll kill you. You, Carrow and the rest of the Slytherins. I swear it on Dumbledore's grave"… A giant serpent savagely devouring a dead woman's flesh…_

_"Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?"_

He ran.

"Draco! Where are you going?" Lucius called after him, surprised and annoyed. "Forget it--- Wormtail--- go fetch the goblin."

Draco raced up the stairs, pulse hammering loudly, palms sweating. He threw himself into his bedroom and opened the drawers on his bedside table, shaking fingers rifling through the contents of each in turn. Long minutes passed before his hand closed around the last of his supply of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, which he shoved into his pocket, then he retrieved his most prized possession from its honored place on the mantelpiece and ran back downstairs.

He bumped into two figures who were silently creeping along the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room.

"Oof!"

"Ron, it's---"

"Potter!"

"Malfoy!"

Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley stood stock-still, wands pointed directly at each other's chest.

"Where'd you get the wand, Weasley?" Draco asked in a semblance of his old drawl, panting.

It was Harry who answered. "From Wormtail. He's dead."

Draco nodded. "I see."

"Drop your wand, or you'll end up just like him," Ron growled.

"Look," said Draco slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, "I'm going to help you get out of here."

There was a brief, stunned silence.

"_What?"_

"Deaf, are we, Potter?"

"B--- but why?" Ron gaped at him.

"I have my reasons." _And once I figure out what those reasons are, I'll get back to you._

"You're not fooling us," snapped Harry. "Don't even---"

"Listen," Draco hissed, "any moment now they're going to summon the Dark Lord. Do you _really _want to be here when he arrives? And do you really want to wait until Greyback gets his claws on the Mudblood?"

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Don't call her that, you bas---"

"Greyback, take her if you want her," said Bellatrix's voice from inside the drawing room.

Ron froze momentarily, and then, without a single glance at Draco or Harry, charged into the room, bellowing "No!" at the top of his lungs.

"Ron!" Harry cried, following him.

Draco swore under his breath. The idiots! Not that he himself was any better… He burst into the drawing room, just in time to see Bellatrix holding a silver dagger to an unconscious Hermione's throat, and almost before he knew what he was doing, he had plunged his hand into his pocket and then thrown the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in the air.

There was a ruckus of screams and confused exclamations. Draco murmured an incantation, and the candle nestled in the Hand of Glory flickered to life, producing a fierce, blazing light that only Draco could see.

Bellatrix was scrabbling madly on the floor, the limp form of Hermione a few feet away from her. Draco rushed over and scooped the girl up in his arms, then ran to where Harry and Ron had inadvertently collided with each other.

"Potter," Draco hissed in Harry's ear, over Greyback's roars and his parents' cries and Bellatrix's demented screams of rage, "grab hold of my robes and hold on to Weasley. I have Granger. I'm carrying the Hand of Glory. I'm leading us out of here."

Conflicting emotions flickered across Harry's face, until, finally, he nodded. "The goblin--- Griphook--- we need him, too---"

A few seconds later, Draco burst out of the drawing room with Hermione in his arms, followed by Harry and Ron, who was carrying Griphook.

"Faster!" Draco urged. "It won't be long before they find the door."

He led them up the stairs. Moseley the house elf was scrubbing the banister, and his eyes widened when he saw them.

"I forbid you to tell anyone you saw us, Moseley!" Draco yelled as they ran past him.

"Malfoy, what the _hell _is going on?" Ron demanded as they entered Draco's room. "Why did you bring us---"

Draco kicked the wall and leapt back. The secret door swung open, revealing a dark passageway.

"---here," Ron finished lamely.

Without a moment's pause, Draco plunged into the tunnel.

"Hey, wait a second!" Ron yelled, poking his head in. He then turned to Harry, panicking. "Harry, he's gone! And he took Hermione!"

"No help for it," said Harry tersely, "we'll have to follow him---"

"Harry Potter! Dobby has returned!"

"Dobby, take Griphook to Shell Cottage. Now."

"But what about Harry Potter---"

"We'll catch up," said Harry. "Quickly, Dobby!"

After the house elf had disappeared with the goblin, Harry turned to Ron. "C'mon, let's go see what Malfoy's playing at."

Ron was scowling. "If that git lays a hand on Hermione…" They entered the tunnel, and the rest of the threat was swallowed up by the darkness.


End file.
